


Un-wined

by exactly13percent (superagentwolf)



Series: Something Wicked [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Kevin Day is Dumb, M/M, May be Read as Standalone, Neil the Witch Slut, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Sappy Sex, bottom!neil, but we love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 00:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16459592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/exactly13percent
Summary: "What do you want, Kevin?"Oh.-Kevin's not sure what he expects when he summons Josten, or why he did in the first place.Well. That's not entirely true.





	Un-wined

Kevin stumbles across the ad when he’s coming out of his cottage in the evening to inspect a noise.

Literally stumbles. He’s drunk.

The slip of paper drifts from side to side, a boat on the wind, and Kevin stares down at it. He traps it with a shoe, pausing before he bends to pick it up. The movement makes him a little ill. He’s been hitting the fae wine a little hard.

 _Josten’s Personal Delivery_ , the paper says. Kevin’s fingers twitch on the paper. Josten. _Josten._

“Josten,” he says aloud, as if that will help jog his memory. It doesn’t.

Kevin decides this is a problem for sober Kevin and he goes back inside, forgetting about his intention to inspect the rustling he’d heard.

The ad is left on the kitchen table.

* * *

 

He’s supposed to be assisting with a warding potion when he remembers. Kevin drops the vial of beetle wings he is holding; the thin glass shatters like music against the wood of the table.

Andrew glares, but he also inspects Kevin head to toe. “You will pay me back anything you destroy.”

Kevin doesn’t answer. He absently swipes the scattered wings into a pile; his mind is elsewhere.

 _Josten._ He remembers the name, now. A boy then, who was standing in line to find a sigil, his hands curled tightly around his jacket. He was alone.

Andrew keeps glancing at Kevin the rest of the day. His eyes are narrowed, and he doesn’t seem to believe the way Kevin composes himself, but that doesn’t matter. Kevin is more concerned with Josten and the ad sitting on his table at home.

_What could it be?_

Maybe he shouldn’t be curious, but he has a very vivid memory of startling blue eyes. That, and Kevin can’t remember what else. It escapes him, like—

—like so much water.

“Can you make it home, or will you forget the way?” Andrew’s nose wrinkles a little. His glasses shift, round things that never fog, even when he stands over his cauldron.

Kevin sighs, annoyed. “I can. Tomorrow, Andrew.”

It’s their usual parting, but Andrew’s hazel eyes stare after him longer than usual.

 _Whatever._ Kevin nabs his broom from the porch and shoots home as quickly as he dares. There’s a question eating away at his mind and he doesn’t have time for Andrew’s scrutiny.

Besides, Andrew doesn’t trust sigiled witches. Better to keep this quiet, for now. Especially if this Josten is new in town. In their territory.

Kevin worries at his lip while he reads the ad. It’s succinct; the directions and summoning sigil are neatly printed at the bottom of the page. The rest is all annoyingly vague; something about services and relaxation. Kevin doesn’t care enough to decipher the language.

Summoning requires something personal. Kevin scratches at his nose and considers what to offer. Blood is usually best, but he’s not too crazy about it. _What else?_

He paces to the kitchen for wine while he tries to think of something. One sip in, he has an idea.

Kevin slides his finger along his tongue, salt mingling with the sweetness of the wine. He finds a nice square of parchment on his desk and draws the sigil, tracing the shape with care. A moment later, it hums and burns soft orange, the color blazing blue before it dissipates.

_Josten at your service._

Hm. Kevin takes another sip. It’s not a real, audible voice; that’s strange. As if it’s meant to be private. No one else would hear if they were in the room, Kevin thinks.

_I am on my way to you now. If you haven’t _chosen your service yet, don’t worry. You have…two minutes…until my arrival. Light a candle for me, would you?__

Two minutes. Not much time. Kevin frowns and looks down at his glass. He should offer one, probably, but he’s not a fan of sharing. _Oh, well._

Kevin sets a rosewood candle by the window at the front door and fills another glass. What seems like a breath later, there is a soft knock at the door.

Whatever Kevin expected when he opened the door, it wasn’t what he found.

Josten is slight, with a soft tangle of red-brown hair. His eyes are just the same blue as Kevin remembers, but nothing else is remotely the same. Not the leather pants, not the silky shirt, and absolutely not the little silver piercings. There are several, Kevin notices—two tiny orbs, one above and below the witch’s left eyebrow. A curved horseshoe gracing his septum. Little rings on his ear.

“Are you going to let me in?” _Ah. Tongue stud._ Kevin reacts a moment late, suddenly moving back and wondering what had him stuck in place, before.

Well. Not wondering, exactly. He knows.

“Come in.” Kevin balances the twin glasses in his hand, shutting the door carefully behind Josten.

The closer Josten gets to the light, the more Kevin realizes his shirt is almost transparent. There are tattoos—sigils—clearly visible below it. Earth and Air, Kevin recognizes, and Water and Fire. On Josten’s shoulders and hands. There’s also a large one on his back. And a smaller one, right—

—well. Above his ass.

“Is that for me?” Josten’s lips curl upward, something about them pleased.

Kevin looks down at his hand. _Right._ “Yes. Here.”

Josten takes it. His fingers brush Kevin’s and somehow, they send a warm little spark over Kevin’s skin. _Stupid_ , he tells himself, but he can’t help the flush he feels. He’s not sure if it’s apparent on his cheeks. Kevin looks down at his wine, suddenly suspicious.

Josten takes a sip. The color on his lips is deep; it looks nice against his gold skin. When he looks down, Kevin can see the black kohl around Josten’s eyes.

_Wait. Reasons._

“Sweet,” Josten says simply. He smiles and leans back against the table, the glass at home in his hand as if it has always been there. As if he has always lounged this way, languid and exuding some sort of golden light. “What do you want, Kevin?”

Kevin taps a finger against his glass. Tries not to wince. He’s been told it’s not attractive. “I was just—I saw your ad and I thought I remembered your name. I thought I’d ask about it. Do you? Remember me?”

Josten stares. His lips purse for a second—really, they’re nice, _but that’s not the point_ —and then Josten delicately sets his glass on the table. He clears his throat. “ _Kevin_. What do you want, Kevin?”

Kevin frowns, about to open his mouth and try to explain some other way, and then he realizes.

 _Oh._ His name.

Josten said his name.

“You do know me.”

Josten smiles. Moves away from the table, soft footsteps and smoky eyes. He finds Kevin’s eyes and meets them without hesitation, despite how much shorter he is. “Of course, I do. You remember me?”

“I _—”_ He does, he really _does_ _,_ but Kevin has no earthly idea why. He also does not remember Josten’s first name. “I remember your eyes.”

They widen, those blue pools. Josten’s lips part a little, surprise and pleasure written on his mouth, and then he smiles faintly. “That’s almost romantic, Kevin.”

“What?” Josten is closer. Very close. Kevin doesn’t remember putting his glass down. Did he? Did Josten? He has the sudden need for clarity. Feels like a liar. So he says, “I—don’t remember your name.”

“I never told you.” Josten smiles—his smile is a secret, Kevin decides; it hides in the corners of his mouth and the shine of his bright blue eyes. “It’s Neil.”

“Neil.” That—

—that feels right. Better. Better than Josten, at least.

Neil’s eyes sparkle; they sparkle, and Kevin doesn’t know what to do with that information. “So, Kevin. What do you want?”

“What do you mean?”

Neil absently toys with the collar of his shirt, hums, paces in a little circle. Like he’s inspecting the cottage. Kevin wants to ask what all of this is—why he’s felt so off-balance from the beginning—and then it strikes him.

Want.

 _Oh_. “Oh,” Kevin says, and then Neil turns back to him, the little laugh in his eyes bright.

“Oh,” Neil echoes, moving closer again. He reaches out, but he pauses just before touching. Kevin looks down, confused, his hands hesitating with the instinct to reach back. “So? What do you want, Kevin? Wine? Or—”

“Or.”

Neil’s eyebrows hike up and then he laughs, eyes crinkled at the corners, and how— _how_ could Kevin not, when the sound is like bells; like summer and sweet things and chocolate in the nighttime?

Kevin pulls Neil in by his arm—his body is warm; he has the same electric feel as before. Neil slides into his embrace just perfectly, fitting himself to Kevin like there isn’t a foot between them and all the awkward height issues in the world. Neil just slides his arms over Kevin’s chest, his hands tugging at Kevin’s shirt, his mouth sweet and open.

It has been a very long time since Kevin kissed anybody. It certainly wasn’t like this, and if that’s bad or not, he doesn’t know. What Kevin does know is that he is sober, and that he is tremendously glad that he is. He will remember this.

He would probably remember it anyway—the honey-wine slide of Neil’s tongue in his mouth, the spiced rum of the way Neil moans softly. The click of the tiny stud on Neil’s tongue as he explores.

Kevin’s hands wander absently. He is more focused on taste—on Neil’s mouth—than anything else.

At least, until he finds the little barbells under Neil’s shirt.

Neil gasps when Kevin brushes his nipples, a little shudder wracking his small frame. Kevin pauses just to watch the way Neil’s eyelids flutter, the bright red-pink flush on his cheeks deepening.

“Do you like that?”

A laugh, but it’s stumbling. Neil’s chest is rising a little too quickly. “I’m supposed to be asking you that.”

“Yes,” Kevin says automatically. He very much likes what Neil does. He likes the kissing. Like Neil.

Neil laughs again. His lips are a wonderful red from kissing, but Kevin decides they could be redder. Like wine. A little crushed.

“What do you want, Kevin? This, or—”

“Or,” Kevin says again. He shrugs and pulls Neil again quickly, just to taste the laugh in his throat.

Not that Kevin is inexperienced. He knows well enough how to blindly pull Neil’s shirt away and he lets Neil do the same for him, clothes distantly hitting the ground. Another time, Kevin might care, but his shirt is the last thing on his mind.

The couch. That is on his mind.

Neil _is_ short, and Kevin wants to see him better—wants to hold him fully, not at a strange tilt. He pulls them backwards, away from the foyer and into the living room. Their feet manage a path to the dim room and then Kevin drops onto the couch, years of memory granting him the easy fall backward without looking.

He likes the startled noise Neil makes. The way Neil blinks, his blue eyes hazy but surprised when he finds himself straddling Kevin. “Oh.”

For a moment, Kevin thinks he might be wrong.

“Is this wrong or—”

“Or.” Neil beams slowly, every inch of his freckle face coming to life with whatever peculiar inner light he carries. Kevin wants to reach for it like the glow of a fire in winter—he does, his hand seeking, and Neil pushes into Kevin’s palm like a cat, a purr in his throat.

That—

—that should not be hot. Shouldn’t be as enticing as Kevin finds it, with Neil’s little wicked grin and the way he turns his head, his tongue flicking against the pad of Kevin’s finger.

Not that Kevin would have ever known this before, but he suddenly knows with _absolute certainty_ that he likes having his fingers in someone’s mouth. Or maybe it’s just Neil.

All he knows is he likes the mouth closed around his fingers, with red-pink color and soft curves.

“Pretty lips.”

Neil startles. His mouth falls open, another bell-peal of laughter tumbling out. Kevin realizes he spoke aloud and tries not to flush, but he’s sure he failed.

“Thank you,” Neil says coyly. He bends forward, head tilted as he presses himself over Kevin’s chest. It is too good—too wonderful, the way his heated body weighs on Kevin. “What would you like me to do with them?”

 _Oh, God_. Kevin wonders if Neil is toying with him, or if Kevin has to say it. He isn’t sure he could. _That’s a lie._ He’s said it before, but this is different. It feels…different.

He’s not sure why. Maybe it’s because he wants this to happen again.

“Don’t worry.” Neil shifts and then Kevin can feel the erection pressed against his; Kevin suddenly, desperately, wants to be out of his pants. “If you don’t want to, or—”

“Or,” Kevin finally gasps. He hopes his hands aren’t too heavy on Neil’s hips; that’s where they land. “I want you to—I mean, your lips—”

Neil shakes a little and Kevin almost pulls away completely before he notices Neil is biting back laughter. Kevin frowns, staring hard. “You’re laughing at me.”

“God, you’re cute.” Neil finally laughs out loud, his eyes a little teary. “You’ve always been perfect, haven’t you? Is it odd, not to feel perfect now? You don’t have to be. Not with me.”

Kevin wants to be insulted by that, but—well. He finds he doesn’t really care. Perfect is useless and this, whatever it is, doesn’t require his customer-service smile or curt words. His practiced replies and professional demeanor.

It requires the opposite, actually. Maybe it’s high time he let loose, anyway.

“No perfect me, then,” Kevin agrees. He watches Neil neatly undo his jeans, hands practiced and delicate. Kevin lets Neil pull his pants away, curious, patient. “Then, I would like to fuck your perfect mouth.”

Neil’s hands trip. He clears his throat like this is routine, but the flush on his face is brighter. Now, Kevin can smile. _Not just me._

“Well, you’ll have to wait,” Neil says primly, like he isn’t settling on Kevin’s thighs in preparation for a blowjob. “No being rough, or I bite.”

“Bite,” Kevin echoes. “Maybe later.”

_Neil glares, but it’s weak. Of course, then he lowers his head and Kevin is very much not in control anymore. Not of his body._

_Oh, fuck._ The words don’t come out; all that comes out is a gasp. Neil’s hands are pressed against his hips, fingers tracing little circles, but it’s Neil’s mouth that has all Kevin’s attention. Neil’s tongue leaves a trail up Kevin’s hardening cock, the heat of his breath as tantalizing as the whisper it brings with it.

All Kevin can do is tangle his hands in Neil’s hair. It’s so damnably soft; Kevin anchors himself with a fistful, as gentle as he can be while Neil does everything but what he is supposed to.

“Do you always play this much?” Kevin manages to grind out. Neil laughs—purposely, Kevin thinks, against the head of his dick.

“I like playing with my food. But I’ll stop,” Neil promises. He nuzzles against Kevin’s hip— _nuzzles_ , like this is something sweet and not very much dirty—and murmurs, “It seems like you need to unwind.”

Kevin nearly says something—about Neil calling his dick food, which should not be hot—but then Neil tilts his head and swallows Kevin like he’s been doing it for the past five years.

“Shit,” Kevin gasps, because apparently now his voice is going to work, when Neil is sucking his dick like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

This is potentially bad. Some distant part of Kevin’s mind recognizes this; after all, if Neil does this regularly, there’s no reason to believe it’s real, right?

Except Kevin doesn’t honestly give a shit for the first time in his life; he could forget his name this way, with Neil’s fingers tracing his body like they’re memorizing the muscles beneath his skin. With Neil’s mouth hot around him, a tongue sliding against the underside of his cock, enticing Kevin further.

“I was right.” Kevin wants to laugh. He can feel Neil’s inquisitive hum and Kevin’s hand flexes in Neil’s hair. “Your lips are pretty on me.”

Neil’s gaze meets his and Kevin thinks the heaviness to those blue eyes is possibly more intoxicating than the wine. It is then that Neil shifts, a glint in his eyes as he suddenly takes Kevin all the way into his throat, burying his nose against Kevin’s pelvis like he wants to press even closer.

“Fuck, Neil—” Nothing could feel this good; nothing has felt this good. Not in some time and maybe even not then. Kevin feels a sudden loss for himself—no touch could mimic this. Neil. The way there are hands digging into him, pulling him closer.

If this doesn’t happen more than once, Kevin doesn’t want to take the chance. Not when he _needs_ to know. He tugs at Neil’s hair, careful, and the Neil pulls away with the most unashamed _pop_ as Kevin’s dick falls from his lips.

 _Very_ pretty, _very_ red lips.

“What—”

Kevin pulls Neil down, a hand at the back of his neck. Neil’s surprise is a hum against his mouth and then Kevin enjoys the way Neil rocks mindlessly against him, the breath from Neil’s nose whispering against his skin.

 _I was here_ , Kevin thinks, his hand stroking down the wonderful curve of Neil’s throat. He almost wants to write it in pen, there. _Stupid_. He does bite the skin there, though, and Neil’s startled cry draws out into a pleased little moan. Neil’s fingers curl over Kevin’s chest as if he is looking for a shirt to pull at.

“Am I allowed to fuck you? Because I would very much like to.”

Neil yelps when Kevin rolls a finger on his nipple, watching the little silver balls gleam. The moan leaving his mouth turns into a whine. _“Kev—_ _Kevin._ _”_

_“Sorry.”_

Neil snorts, but he’s out of breath and his eyes are hazy. “Sure, you are.”

“Can I?”

“Fuck— _yes, please_ ,” Neil says, incredulous. One of his hands disappears and Kevin wants to ask what he’s doing before he feels the very certain warmth of liquid near his legs. Neil’s flush can’t get any deeper, but Kevin notices the way Neil glances away like he’s embarrassed. “There.”

“A spell? You know a spell for lube?” Kevin smirks. His hands move around Neil’s ass and he almost forgets what he wanted to do. _The curves on this man are ridiculous._ It’s the same as Neil’s thighs, taut and lean on Kevin’s sides. So lovely.

Neil huffs. “Of course, I do. What kind of— _oh_ ,” Neil gasps, his eyes widening when Kevin slides a finger into his hole. “ _Fuck_ , fuck—”

Kevin likes the way Neil’s arms shake on his chest. He can feel the hard line of Neil’s dick on his stomach, probably leaking and red with need. As much as Kevin thinks he could watch Neil come just like this, he’s more interested in a happy ending for the both of them. Something that involves less space between their bodies.

Neil practically mewls when Kevin starts to stretch him. He is no longer interested in holding himself up; his forehead is pressed to Kevin’s chest, his hips canting back into Kevin’s touch. “ _Fuck_ , Kevin, _more_.”

 _He’s not acting._ It hits Kevin suddenly and he shouldn’t be so surprised—shouldn’t have doubted in the first place—but it makes him stupidly happy all the same. Whatever Kevin decided he wanted after he just _looked_ at Neil, Neil seems to want something just the same, too.

“Are you ready?” Kevin pulls Neil’s face up with his free hand; waits for Neil to groan in frustration before they kiss, a messy tangle of need and distraction. “You’re so pretty like this.”

“I’ll be prettier when you fuck me,” Neil promises, his laugh breathless.

I’m sure. Kevin slides his palms around Neil’s ass, careful, and then he watches Neil wiggle into place and—

—and the slow, wonderful slide of Neil’s body as he lowers onto Kevin.

“Oh, fuck,” Kevin breathes. His sight is fuzzy, and he should not open his mouth for what might come out but should is a word that left his vocabulary when he opened the door to Neil.

Neil sighs happily and then he slides back up, his hands pressed like burning brands into Kevin’s chest for leverage. “Oh, Kevin, you’re so good—”

Maybe Neil never shuts up, but Kevin likes it; loves the stupid tumble of praise from Neil’s lips and the moans that punctuate everything. But this is not about Kevin and he needs Neil to know that, so he helps Neil up with his hands, waiting until Neil is almost lifted entirely off his dick before dropping Neil messily onto his lap.

“Ah—!” It is a choked cry that leaves Neil’s lips, just as crushed and sweet red as their color. “Please, Kevin, _please_ —”

“What do you want?” Kevin digs in, his fingers pressing into Neil’s skin like he can absorb Neil, make his hums and moans part of him forever. “Tell me, pretty boy. What do you want?”

“Want—want you,” Neil gasps, his legs shaking while he tries to move faster. “I want you, Kevin, I want you—”

Stupid that those words should do it; that they should mean so much. But they do. Kevin hears them, and he loves them, especially from Neil’s mouth.

So, he gives Neil what he wants. Kevin guides Neil, reveling in the tightness of his body as Neil slides over him again and again, shaking and red. Neil is beyond words; he is all soft gasps of pleasure, ah catching on his tongue and oh between his teeth.

“Perfect,” Kevin says, and his voice is almost just a whisper now, too reverent and too lost to be much more. “You’re so beautiful, Neil, _perfect_ —”

Kevin thinks he will chase this later—the possibility that Neil can come with praise alone—as Neil crumbles above him, a final moan of pleasure torn from his mouth while his hips stutter. Neil shakes and Kevin reaches out, needing to just touch. Neil almost sobs when Kevin strokes him through the orgasm and then Kevin forgets what he’s doing because Neil’s ass is tight around him and Kevin comes with a starburst of pleasure and sweetness, _fulfilled_ in a way he didn’t know was possible.

“Kevin,” Neil whines. “ _Fuck_.”

Right. Kevin moves his hand away, aware that Neil’s body is still quivering on top of him. He waits, still blinking past stars and red-pink pleasure, while Neil pants on his chest.

He doesn’t know how long they lay there, but Kevin realizes his couch will need to be cleaned.

“What?” Neil huffs out an exhausted laugh.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Neil leans back and there is a soft fondness in his eyes Kevin can’t really fathom. He feels a little bewildered by it, in fact. “You’re silly, Day.”

“You said something like that already.”

“I’ll say it again.” Neil smiles and yawns, trying to hide the motion with a lazy arm. He is too slow to be effective.

Kevin considers. Glances down at the couch. “Shower?”

Neil pauses. His blue eyes turn to Kevin again, curious. “You don’t have to offer.”

“I don’t? Then how would you—”

“I could just use my shirt.” Neil shrugs. “Or—”

“Or,” Kevin decides.

Neil pauses. The smile that curls back onto his lips is so _sweet_ and Kevin can’t help leaning up to taste them again, the wine such a distant memory that it’s probably mostly his imagination. Neil is languid again, lazy and unhurried as he kisses back. When he pulls away, there’s that same fond smile on his lips.

“You looking for round two, Day?”

Kevin snorts. Levers himself up neatly and lets Neil roll away, a muffled grunt hidden behind his bruised lips. “Maybe.”

Neil’s eyes widen and then—

—then, he looks at Kevin’s face and laughs, bright and free and absolutely real.

If there’s a round two available, maybe this won’t be the last time, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> when will the world stop my wicked fingers  
> (also kevin day 2kforever)


End file.
